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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555795">where did we leave off? (what can’t i remember?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/choirboyharem'>choirboyharem</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Parent/Child Incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:26:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555795</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/choirboyharem</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>BoJack always counts to a hundred.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>BoJack Horseman/Butterscotch Horseman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>where did we leave off? (what can’t i remember?)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[downs a full mug of cherry coke and vodka] so i’m sad the funny horse show is over and i’m sad that i have to try to cope with that now</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The door was shut and the door was locked and the sun was going down. The air was thick and it smelled like smoke. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Count. Keep counting. One, two, three, four, five—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Goddamnit, stop fucking squirming. Take it like a man.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Six—seven? Eight? Five? He couldn’t remember. “I’m not a man yet,” he whispered. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then you better learn to grow up, BoJack.” Seven, eight, nine, ten—the heel of a hand on the back of his neck, grinding down, fingers curling in to grab his mane. “You’re gonna learn right now. When you go to school tomorrow, you can tell your teacher that Daddy taught you better than that old cunt ever could.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought briefly of Miss Paulson telling him he was funny and kind and how much she’d liked the birthday card he’d made her. It made feel even worse. He wasn’t going to be able to go to school tomorrow, but his mother would ask him why the hell not, she didn’t care where he was bleeding or whether or not certain parts of him may or may not have been perforated, he was still going to school because for the love of Christ, she needed a break. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he would still go to school. As much as it hurt and and as much as he could feel it, he would still go to school. He felt like starting his crying jag already over it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus fuck, yeah, that’s it, that’s right. Take it. You shut your mouth and you take it like a man, BoJack.” Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, snap, cough, gasp, sob, fifteen, seventeen, twenty, thirty-seven, eighty, the edge of the desk dug into his stomach and he hacked and nearly choked when he was thrown forward again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dad,” he forced out. It rattled his teeth and scratched his throat. “D-Daddy—go—ngh—slower—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eighty-one. His cheek slapped against the desk as it remained ground down against it. “You’ll stay fucking quiet when I tell you you’ll stay fucking quiet. Listen to me for once in your life.” Eighty-one. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eighty-five. He moaned through his tears, his cock dribbling weakly between his legs as he clenched up. He trembled down to his bones. He was tired. So hopelessly tired after having already come a few minutes earlier. He heard his father say something fierce and guttural and mainly unintelligible. Something blasphemous, probably. Butterscotch fucked him harder. Harder. Snap, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, snap, ninety-three, fuck, oh, <em>God</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He slumped against the desk, boneless and empty yet so full he thought it was going to leak out of his mouth. His father’s weight crushed him as he was forced to take in slick that spilled around him, running down his legs. It was too much. It was always too much. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lost track of how high he’d counted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Butterscotch pulled out of him and he almost collapsed to the floor in a puddle before he was caught underneath the arm. He almost caught his father’s eye, but Butterscotch looked away immediately, clearing his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Go clean yourself up,” Butterscotch muttered. “I’m sure your mother’s been slaving away reheating leftovers for dinner. Go clean yourself up and get dressed.” He released the slim arm in his fingers and shooed him away, not too unkindly. His pants were returned to him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the office door closed behind him with a soft <em>click</em>, he almost began to cry again, but nothing came out. He hunched his shoulders, shuffled down the hall, and jumped in terror at any slight impression of a womanly figure that could very well be approaching him. </span>
</p>
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